


Nothing Could Come Between

by TomorrowsHero



Category: Titanic (1997), ビースターズ | BEASTARS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on the works of Eriochromatic, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, It's Schrodinger's Ending, James Cameron - Freeform, M/M, Memories, Suicide Attempt, and Paru Itagaki, no happy ending, rescue romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26076955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomorrowsHero/pseuds/TomorrowsHero
Summary: Eight decades after the RMS Titanic sank, an old buck comes forward with a tale to tell - of sorrow, salvation, joy, love, loss, tragedy, and hope. It all began with a ship of dreams, a carnivore with and an herbivore without, and a faithful meeting against a backdrop that the world would never forget.This story, itself a crossover between Paru Itagaki's Beastars and James Cameron's Titanic, is inspired by the art of @eriochromatic on Twitter.
Relationships: Legosi & Louis (BEASTARS), Legosi/Louis (BEASTARS)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	1. One True Time I'd Hold To

**Author's Note:**

> Many and countless thanks to eriochromatic, for granting me permission to write this story months ago and continuing that permission when I finally got around to it. Also to superduperl on this site and others, whose story "Between First Class and Third Class" uses the same inspiration and was a joy to read, even though I'll do my best to avoid copying or retreading their footsteps.

It was going to be a bad day, and everybody knew it.

Pina had guessed it ahead of time, had said that things had been running far too smoothly for too long. Everyone had spent enough time on the _Keldysh_ to witness Bill's tantrums when the team hit a road block. Ordinarily, Aoba was good at keeping his husband calm and in perspective, reminding him that they hadn't signed on to salvage the _Titanic's_ sunken skeleton for the ease of the project; there was real history to be recovered at those depths, and her lost relics would be treasured around the world.

Otherwise, they wouldn't have found enough sponsors to keep things going for the past three months, as the team gathered eyes from around the world that awaited their findings. It was thrilling on some days, but other days it was suffocating, and Bill's fits of rage on days when even Aoba couldn't soothe him were a fearful motivator to the rest of the team.

Perhaps that was why they had ignored Pina, for fear that acknowledging the sheep's intuition would tempt fate away from them. He'd be preening for days now, when Bill wasn't around to shout him back into his station.

If anything, the day had begun swimmingly. The whole team celebrated once Bill had informed them that they were finally cleared to explore the shipwreck in earnest. Kai, who had been aching to pilot the submersible for weeks, had leaped for joy. Nothing could have dampened their excitement, not even the long and difficult descent to the wreck via submarine.

Once everyone saw the ghost of _Titanic,_ shimmering in what weak light remained from the surface, they became unstoppable. While Kai piloted the ROV through the ship in search for lost treasures and Aoba manned the submarine holding the crew, Tao eagerly recorded the crew's commentary within the submarine; as if guided and energized by the promise of success and fortune, Bill played his role perfectly as the leader of the expedition – the consummate professional of a salvager with flawless knowledge of the mission and just enough of a daring edge to be charismatic.

Kai made his way across the decks and through the main hall, down the grand staircase and through the molding corridors. It was beautiful, in a sad and lonely sense, to see what had become of such a grand vessel.

They didn't have time to dwell on the tragedy, however; as Kai steered the ROV through a once-luxurious stateroom, approaching a wardrobe within, Bill felt a tingle down his spine and through his tail. Carefully, Kai pulled the old, rotting door open, and every eye in the submarine – and watching the feed on the _Keldysh_ above – widened at what they found inside.

An old, iron combination safe. To untrained eyes, it was a rusting, waterlogged cube of metal. To the team, it was a newfound wonder of the world.

“Get it out of there,” Bill ordered. “Carefully.”

“I know, boss,” Kai said, too excited to have any fire in his retort. He steered the submersible's arms and picked up the safe, handling it like it was his own child. They all ascended back to the surface feeling like children on Christmas, so eager to open their spoils that the submarine could barely contain it all.

And then they had, and there was barely anything inside save for some drawings, and the day worsened considerably.

#

Tao leaned over the red panda's shoulder – over the smaller animal entirely – and watched him swish a clump of stuck paper sheets through an increasingly dirty tray of water, slowly and tenderly picking at the edges of the soaked pages with a pair of tongs as they peeled painstakingly away from each other. “How's it going?” He asked.

The panda, named Fudge after the legendary sweet tooth that one of his fathers possessed, clicked his tongue in annoyance. “About as well as it was when you came by the last three times,” he said shortly, dipping the wet sheets of pulp back into the tray. “I'd say less, actually, since I have to keep dealing with your distractions.”

Tao, whose mother was a Buddhist, just smiled. “Got it, good to hear. Just making sure you don't--”

“Say 'fudge this project' and I'll drown you.”

The panther just chuckled and left Fudge to his business. He walked past Dom and Kai, who were presently restudying the Titanic's cross-section diagrams in search of hiding places, and settled back into his seat at the monitors, surrounded by his editing equipment.

As if on cue, the office door nearby flew open with a bang, and everybody in the room winced.

“So do your damn JOB, you useless goat, and FIND THAT FUCKING DIAMOND!” Bill the tiger bellowed, standing in the open door and shouting into his office. “It's in a safe, isn't it? How many FUCKING safes can one shit ship have anyway?! You said—YOU SASS ME AGAIN, AND I'LL KEEP YOUR FUCKING HORNS, YOU HEAR ME? _GET OUT!_ ”

Pina strolled past the tiger and out of his office, and no one in the crew could read his face. He could be flippant and callous, but the dall sheep prided himself on his knowledge of old treasures, and a dressing down from the boss was never fun for anybody.

Everyone returned to their work as Bill stormed through the lab, before the tiger could turn on them next. With Aoba away speaking to the satellite technicians, no one was safe from the tiger's wrath now.

“So send out what I tell you, WHEN I tell you! That's what I pay you for! Uplink, NOW!”

As Tao and the rest of the crew wilted, Kibi ran up to the tiger with satellite phone in hand. “Bill, it's the partners. They want an update?”

The boss ran his hand down his face, emitting a deeply, terrifyingly predatory growl. Once that was done, he took the phone and – as if flipping a switch – was all smiles and cheer.

“Gon, Rokume! Always a pleasure, folks,” Bill said smoothly, as if speaking to old friends. “Hey, progress is being made, I assure you... no, not the safe, but – hey, only so many places it could have gotten to. The floor debris, the father's room, the purser's safe... Another month, tops. You'll get everything you paid for, tiger's honor. Trust me, my team's top notch.”

Several people around the lab grimaced at that last statement, given how thoroughly Bill had whipped them onward.

“Hey, boss?” Fudge waved his hand in the air. “I think you'll wanna see this.”

Bill made his way over to the panda's station, still chatting on the phone. “...What, nah. Between me and Aoba, we've made sure— _What?_ ” He snapped, pulling the receiver away. The tiger's eyes made their way down toward the washing tray, filled with pages and letters. Delicately, the red panda gripped one page with his tongs and lifted it from the water.

And Bill stared.

For all of his reputation as a treasure hunter, Bill had never claimed art to be one of his specialties; he could always just hire somebody to help with that. Still, he knew enough to recognize the delicate crayon marks in the exquisite form of a young buck upon the page, his antlers supple and his eyes alluring.

The deer was entirely nude, and his lean form was rendered in flawless, gorgeous detail. (Although the hips and groin looked a little sloppy compared to the rest...) Though he rested upon an exquisite-looking divan, even Bill could sense the dignity of the subject that mere comfort could not sully. His eyes were clear and calm and powerful, the sort of gaze that nothing could make falter.

Bill's own gaze sank to the lower-right of the page; scrawled in the same crayon was a single uppercase L, and a date.

4/14/1912.

“Look at his chest, Bill,” Fudge said, lightly patting Bill's arm to alert him. He hadn't needed to, because the tiger's eyes had already swept back up toward the deer and flickered briefly over the necklace worn upon his throat – the lone adornment on the deer's body. It was covered in diamonds with one particularly enormous stone at the center, carved into a heart.

And Bill had spent so long searching for that diamond, so many hours sifting through texts and historical accounts and revisiting them in desperate searches for another shred of truth, that he no longer needed any such reference. He saw that necklace in his dreams and his nightmares, both his waking ones and the ones that plagued him in sleep.

“...Holy shit,” Bill said, breathless and slowly smiling, his sponsors completely forgotten on the other end of his phone.

#

In the end, they'd put out a report on everything that they found in the meantime. Those old trinkets and decorations would still be worth something to museums and the occasional survivor's descendant, and the team could make a buck or two off the former. They'd tacked on the drawing of the tastefully nude deer (properly censored, they didn't need anyone else coming down on them) and used it to drum up a little hype; Bill preened over his plan to use the drawing as a call for information to his audience of thousands.

The sponsors had been less pleased. A desperate Hail Mary, they'd called it, hardly worth the effort. Thankfully, Bill had used the deer's well-sought necklace to spin the potential for immense reward into the discussion, buying the team more precious time.

Still, the coming days were harrowing, marked by stubborn faith and the pursuit of further fruitless leads, and the tension spinning in the air was tangible.

And then the call came, like nectar from the gods.

“ _Still haven't found the Heart of the Ocean, I take it?”_ The old man asked from the other end of the phone. _“Figures. At least you dug up my old drawing. I'd assumed it had rotted away in that safe.”_

Bill's grip on the phone tightened along with the rest of his body. “That...you drew the deer in that picture, Mister...?”

“ _No, not that. That deer_ is _me, Mister Bill. You're interested in hearing more, I take it?”_

And Bill was interested. So much so that he arranged to have the old man flown straight in from the West Coast as soon as possible. That gave the crew plenty of time to speculate.

“He's nuts!” Kai groused, shouting over the wind and other noise on _Keldysh's_ helipad. The chopper that they'd arranged drew visibly closer, only a few hundred feet away now. The whir of the nearing rotors forced some of the aurally sensitive crew members to brace themselves against the din.

Among those, the mongoose in question, for whom the foam rubber plugs stuffed into his ears were doing the bare minimum of blocking out the painful sound.

“You can't seriously buy this, Bill!” The mongoose continued, gritting his teeth in displeasure from so many present factors. “This rando calls in, says he's Louis, son of the old Horns CEO, and we're going with it? Louis'd be what, a hundred years old, _if_ he lived?”

“One hundred and two, actually,” Aoba supplied from Bill's other side.

Kai watched the incoming helicopter with a scowl. “Whatever, old is old! If he's not a liar, he's gotta be out of his gourd by now.”

Bill exhaled forcefully through his teeth, staring straight ahead with conviction. “Yeah, yeah, and we'll throw him in the madhouse when we're done with him. But he _knows._ Fuck, he's probably the only damn person alive who does.” The tiger glanced at the mongoose from the corner of his eye, unwilling to turn away from the nearing chopper. “So we're keeping him for now, got it? I don't care if you've gotta treat him like he's holding your folks at gunpoint somewhere, we're getting what we asked for.”

This _would_ pan out in their favor, of course it would. Sheila had worked some investigative magic to find out more about the buck named Louis. After _Titanic,_ he'd reappeared in Hollywood a whole decade later, straight the fuck out of nowhere, and became a legend in no time flat. No one in the crew could believe that Adler, the hero of a tale for a new era, was about to grace their ship.

(No one in the outside world could believe it either; Bill wasn't watching much news these days, but even he knew that the resurfacing of a long-vanished star had made waves.)

The helicopter landed on the deck of _Keldysh_ with a rushing wave of air, and the door slid open. A wave of luggage greeted everyone, forcing Riz to hurry forward and help catch everything. Only once the bear and his alpaca buddy Tem settled a generous number of suitcases off to the side did a frail, slender form make itself visible to everyone.

The old deer made his way slowly down the stairs leading onto the deck, assisted by a sleek black cane in his left hand and a young doe lady gently holding his right arm to guide him. He saw Riz move to help him and warded the bear away as he descended the final steps. Everybody else on deck seemed to hang in their places, unable to approach the buck or look away from him.

Only Bill found the ability to step closer, moving around his crew and approaching the elderly deer. Bill wouldn't admit it aloud, but he hadn't expected the buck to look all that impressive in person, and first he hadn't. Perhaps that was his carnivorous instincts, or just common sense when dealing with a centenarian.

But then the tiger got a better look at his new guest – he saw the antlers that jutted proudly and powerfully into the air like a crown. Deep gold eyes that still shimmered in the deer's face, as deeply set as they were, weary but unwavering and without fear even in the presence of a large carnivore. A face strong and imposing with the nobility and dignity of an emperor, and a body that continued to stand tall against the ravages of so long life.

Bill realized, seeing all of this, that he had utterly misjudged the deer, and he understood entirely why his crew had been so awestruck when he'd graced their ship. A century of life had done nothing to reduce such majesty.

“You are the captain of this ship?” The deer asked, in a voice worn but defying frailty. He extended a slightly trembling hand. “Bill, yes? It is an honor to board your vessel.”

In a moment of practiced ease, Bill tucked away his anxiety and took the hand offered to him. The deer's grip was one of the strongest he'd felt from an herbivore. “The honor is all mine, Mr. Louis. Mine, and the rest of my crew. If there's anything we can do for you, just say the word.”

Louis gave the tiger a polite smile, lighting the corners of his intimidating face. He turned to his caretaker. “Azuki, if you wouldn't mind carrying my luggage to my room? I suspect my business with the captain and his crew will take some time.”

The doe nodded and made her way over to the pile of suitcases, where Riz and Tem were standing about looking utterly lost. Within moments, she had roped them and a couple other crew members into following her with the heavy bags in tow, and they disappeared below the deck.

Louis turned back to Bill and Aoba, leaning upon his cane. Kai had quietly slipped away, uneasy about dealing with the deer. “Now then, gentlemen. You have my drawing? I would like to see it.”

#

As the elderly deer gazed into the tray of water, studying his drawing with flickering eyes and an unreadable expression, Aoba was busy reciting the history of the necklace they'd been hunting. “...According to theory, the crown diamond was cut up as well. Reshaped into a heart, and then renamed. 'Le Coeur de la Mer'...The Heart of the Ocean,” he said, his account hanging in the air of the lab. “Today it would be literally priceless...The Hope Diamond would be nothing compared to it...”

“Are you telling this story for my benefit, Mr. Aoba? I'm quite acquainted with that old diamond,” Louis replied. His eyes never left the paper floating in the tray, still too fragile to remove. “One time wearing it was more than enough, the damn thing...”

The ship went quiet for a moment, save for the humming of its internals.

Aoba coughed quietly and broke the awkward stillness. “Right, sorry...Still, by all accounts, the necklace had been missing for years when it reappeared on _Titanic._ Would you happen to know anything about that, sir?”

Louis didn't respond, so engrossed was he in his youthful image.

“He wouldn't draw my genitalia at first, did you know?” Louis said, running his eyes over the drawing and absorbing the whole of its composition – the delicate, intricate details captured and preserved in his younger face, the perfect texture renderings of the deer's fur and the light casting shadows upon his form from above. Every part of him was placed just so, without a single error, and conveyed in artistry borne only from the deepest and truest of loves.

Except for the cervine's pelvic area, that was. “I had to remind him in no uncertain terms that I asked him to draw me in full, and even then he could barely look long enough to capture the necessary details.” The old deer chuckled. “He always was an idiot.”

There was no malice in his words. Quite the opposite, for as Bill walked up to Louis' side, the tiger could clearly see the wistfulness setting into the old man's eyes. A delicate shimmering that could have been a prelude to tears.

Bill genuinely hated to draw his guest away from his memories, but he had questions to ask. “I...I'm sorry, did you say that somebody else drew this?” He asked softly. “I thought you said this was your drawing.” The tiger pointed to the date and the signature in the corner, that letter L – for Louis, he'd assumed.

Louis scoffed quietly. “You think I could have drawn this myself, while I was posing? Don't be foolish. The man who drew this was...” The old deer leaned heavily upon his cane. “...a man I loved more than I had ever loved anybody, far more than myself at least.”

Azuki gently rested her hand on Louis' shoulder, and he gestured to her that he was fine.

Bill didn't know how to respond to an admission such as that, so he defaulted to business. “Regardless, if you really were wearing this necklace on the day that _Titanic_ sank, then we could use your help. However much you want for it, it's yours.”

“Bah, keep your money,” Louis said, waving a dismissive hand. “It's the last thing I need. I'll settle for having my drawing returned to me, if that's acceptable.”

Bill swallowed his surprise and nodded. Of course Louis wouldn't _need_ money, not if the deer was as much a star as he was cracked up to be. “O-of course, sir. You've got a deal!”

He flashed one of his trademark audacious grins, all teeth and confidence, and guided the old man through the lab. They perused some of the salvaged artifacts on display, of which Louis provided passive, matter-of-fact commentary where he could – what each piece meant to its owner, and who those owners were as people. Clearly, he'd held onto those memories as tightly as he could for the past eight decades of life.

Upon the large monitors, Ellen presented the simulation that she had designed of the _Titanic's_ capsizing, with as much detail as she'd been able to wring out of the old ship and the survivor's accounts. Louis watched and listened to her narration with quiet consideration; he looked even more regal as he held his head high to watch the screens.

Once the zebra had finished, Louis gave an approving nod. “Yes...yes, that was very impressive. Very different from when it happened properly. Far more...more clinical, detached...”

The old buck's eyes stared far into the distance, forcing those in his sight to turn away from their haunted intensity. He was utterly still, save for his gently trembling hand upon his cane.

“Hey, Mr. Louis?” Bill asked. When the deer didn't respond and Bill processed the look on his face, the tiger's loud voice softened. “Hey, for real. Are you okay, sir?”

Azuki rested her hand on Louis' shoulder as his head began to dip beneath an unseen weight. “He's...overwhelmed, I'm sure. I'll take him back to his room for now, and later you can--”

“ _NO!”_

Everyone in the lab turned as the old man cried out. His eyes _shone_ as he settled them upon Bill, and the tiger nearly stepped back. “No...I promised you my story, Mr. Bill, and I will deliver here and now.”

As Louis rose to his full height and stared ahead with clear golden eyes and an almighty presence, it seemed absurd to everybody that he could be over a century old.

The moment broke, and the old and noble buck settled into a chair with Azuki's aid. He rested his cane upon his lap and closed his eyes. “This story, this ship...It's been eighty-four years...”

Everyone was silent save for Bill, who knelt down in front of the deer in his chair. “Just tell us what you can, okay--”

“Do you want to hear my story or not?” Louis' eyes snapped open, and this time Bill did flinch backward slightly. Once the old deer had settled, he began to speak once more.

“Eighty-four years...it's been truly no time whatsoever. I can still smell the fresh paint. The unused china, the undisturbed linens, the ocean far below. They called _Titanic_ the 'Ship of Dreams'. To me, when I boarded with my father, it was anything but...”


	2. Nothing I Fear

The day that the RMS _Titanic_ left on its maiden voyage should have been a perfect day for everyone. It certainly appeared to qualify – throngs of carnivores and herbivores flooded into the port of Southampton, mingling in rarely seen harmony. The shops were crowded with tourists and passengers looking to buy souvenirs for the occasion, and all of the local pubs and eateries were partying without regard to the lines of species or their diets.

(In one small and shadowed establishment, a golden retriever and a gray wolf were occupied with an intense game of poker – with more on the line than they'd ever dreamed.)

However, the centerpiece of all the festivities could only be the grand vessel itself, resting in the waters of the Atlantic. The ship _Titanic_ towered over the crowds and stretched up toward the heavens like yet another ark ordained by God, an obsidian wall nearly one thousand feet in length that spanned the port and wore a bright white crown atop its lower half.

It was a sight of divine craftsmanship to everyone, and a haven of luxury to the passengers boarding slowly throughout the day. They were idols to the masses, who watched with admiration and envy as they climbed the ramp into the ship's grand interior, crafted solely for those with the fortune to come aboard.

But even such a majestic sight was of no comfort to the occupants of the black automobile. It was a great machine on its own scale, the pinnacle of innovation in personal transport, and it drew more than a few awestruck eyes as it pulled as close to the port as possible before the crowds were too thick to bear.

The passenger door opened, allowing a horde of mice to spill out and roil across the cobblestone like a living miniature wave. They moved the short distance to the passenger door and climbed upon one another to pull the handle, allowing a tall and imposing buck to step out of the automobile.

A moment later, after a murmured command, a much younger deer followed his father into the open. Apart from the disparities in height, age, and the size of their long horns, the two bucks were perfect complements to one another; their gazes commanding and calculating, their postures tall and proper, their suits clean and impeccably worn. The marks of honored guests upon _Titanic_ , in simpler words.

The father of the two turned his head just enough to look back at the automobile with discontent in his eyes, and turned back with nary a movement. “I don't need to impress how important this is any further, Louis,” said Ogma, president of the Horns Conglomerate's affluent European branch, as he and his son made their way around the crowd. “There will be no leniency available for errors at any point during this trip. We have many important connections to secure before we reach New York, and this is not a vacation or a leisure trip. Is that clear?”

Even against the raucous backdrop of sound, Ogma's voice cut through perfectly clear to his son, as it ever did.

“Yes, Father,” Louis said. Every step that they made toward the ship was planned for them to stand apart from the masses, to keep their airs of superiority perfectly unsullied. Ogma looked up at _Titanic_ with an unimpressed look, doubtless confirming the value of the transactions slated to occur on the trip. They'd both studied the grand liner in as much detail as Ogma could gather, and Louis more than half-believed that he knew more about the ship and its amenities than its builders.

(They both did, even more for Ogma, but he wouldn't have cared how many people from all over the world had united to bring a single ship to life.)

Louis turned his head up toward the decks as well, careful not to ruffle his collar or look unseemly to passersby. “So many people are calling it unsinkable, Father,” he said. He wasn't sure he'd go that far, but the architects seemed to have designed a very thorough means of mitigating any flooding in the hulls.

Ogma scoffed. “Unsinkable. The labels that people will flock toward.”

They left the cohort of mice behind to check their suitcases and made their own way toward the first-class gangway, climbing the steps toward the next six days – one hundred and thirty-seven hours proper – of travel. All the way to New York City, to America. And _Titanic_ would be immortal in the end, its maiden voyage never to be forgotten, but always aspired toward. Perhaps a few lucky passengers would join it in legend, but the ship would be the final survivor of time.

“We won't have time to enjoy ourselves once we board, Louis,” Ogma said, pulling his son from his thoughts. “I expect you to prepare for tomorrow once we arrive at our rooms. The Sublime Beastar will be sending his associates to meet with us first.”

“Yes, Father,” Louis repeated. He'd been hoping to read through some more plays this evening, but Father's wishes and business came first. He was lucky that Father was generous enough to bring him along, to invite him into the world of business that he had been navigating for decades. It was a sign that he expected Louis to join him one day, to fuel their rise into an even greater dynasty.

And _Titanic_...she was a beautiful ship. More than worthy of the legacy for which Ogma was hoping to sow seeds. Maybe even as much as the Sublime Beastar himself, who would doubtless be enjoying luxuries the likes of which even Ogma could never dream of sharing.

Louis should have been honored to stand upon her decks, surrounded by such affluence and prestige.

He should have.

He spent all evening preparing for the next day, until even his father's critical eyes dismissed him to bed, and slept far worse than he'd have liked.

#

Legosi wished that Jack would be a little less conspicuous this morning. Clearly, Jack was wishing for the opposite.

“I'm just saying, we're here, right? Maybe not the way that most people got their tickets, but who cares?” Jack asked. The Labrador patted his lifelong friend on the bicep and smiled. “Come on, Legosi! You saw how many people would kill to be on this ship. Let's try and enjoy ourselves! Our bunkmates seem really nice, huh?”

But Legosi had more important matters to consider than the other canines of room 701 in the third-class section (and the one stray hyena, which was odd, but Miguno was friendly enough and Durham loved him, so whatever). The gray wolf leaned forward a little to get a better look at the panda and his son standing together against the railing, his black crayon staining his fingertips as he pulled it across his drawing pad.

Fewer people than ever that Legosi met these days were interested in the insects that he used to draw – gorgeous and lifelike as his drawings were, Legosi wasn't earning even the pittance that he'd come to rely on. So that meant learning how to draw people instead, in their moments of natural life and humanity.

And people were _different_ from rhinoceros beetles and molting cicadas. Even two of something as small as mice never shared a posture or a gait, or anything as simple as a smile. They were all different, and they all demanded that Legosi show their still pictures of humanity in the way that suited them best.

It wasn't easy, but it was certainly better than starving.

Jack leaned over Legosi's shoulder. “Still worried about your art, huh?” He asked, trading his glee for a moment of empathy. “Hey, you're doing fine right now. Remember the farmers' market? They loved your portraits there.”

“Only because no one else was doing them,” Legosi said at last, trying to measure the shadows cast over the panda's fur. “It would've been different if I had any competition.”

He pressed his crayon against the pad and frowned. God, but the shading was all wrong. The shadows shouldn't have been uniform; they needed to complement the way that the sun struck each part of the panda's body and emphasize how the animal's curves cast other parts of his form into shadows at this angle of the light.

Legosi grabbed the end of his scarf – darkened from all the charcoal and oil it had absorbed over the years – and rubbed it over the crayon, trying his best to scrape off as much of the faulty shading as he could without smearing it over the paper. The result only made his frown deepen further. This one was no good either.

He reached toward the top of his pad to rip away the ruined drawing, but Jack's hand rested upon his to stop him. “Look, just...take a break? For me?” Jack asked with a doggish grin. “Think about where we are, Legosi! Years from now, this will be history, and we're a part of it! That's gotta feel pretty great.”

It would have felt better if they were celebrating up above on the first-class decks, instead of down here where the so-called dregs had been left to gather. Still, Legosi didn't say that aloud. Jack was...well, he wasn't wrong. They'd come a long way across Europe, and having a couple of weeks to sit back and be carried to America wasn't the worst thing that could happen.

Southampton was already so far away now, its former celebrations utterly silent next to the crashing waves far below. It had been a decent final destination in Legosi's trek across Europe, with his old friend Jack in tow. But Legosi was satisfied with what he'd seen of Europe, and he could only imagine what America would bring through the stories he'd heard – cities built up toward the sky on empires of oil and steel, and the cultures borne of freedom and liberty that has resonated across the world in recent years.

With nothing left of the horizon or the third-class deck to interest him, the gray wolf stretched his neck upward to the first-class deck above, where animals walked with straight backs and artificial polite smiles, clad impeccably in crisp and expensive garments.

It must have been exhausting up there – the constant self-evaluation and mental games to be played between veneers of politeness. Legosi didn't think he could fit into that world; he could only be himself after all.

Jack had told him once that he was “earnest, but needed confidence.” Legosi supposed that was half of something to take pride in, at least.

He—who was that?

Legosi's eyes slid across the buck standing at the prow of the deck above him, then snapped back so quickly that he felt it. Yes, that was a red deer, tall and composed, with antlers that were thin but spread proudly from his scalp like a diadem. He was like a prince, the way he held himself – standing without flinching against the wind blowing at his front, letting it flow past him and ruffle the tail of his coat.

On a cursory glance, the deer's face was solemn, unaffected. But even from this distance, Legosi could see his eyes. He could see how the young buck held them forward but stared far away into nothing. Whatever waited at the line on the horizon where the ocean met the sky, it brought this deer no joy. Yet he looked on to the distance, with his eyes that held no excitement, or ambition, or anything at all.

Legosi could have watched him for years, could have drawn that face in a thousand portraits and still captured details that had eluded him a hundred times before. But then he felt a hand on his shoulder and he brought his head down toward Jack.

The Labrador met Legosi's gaze with his own. “Hey, it'd be nice to check things out up there, right?” The question wasn't without its cheer, but Jack had tempered it with his own graceful resignation and it carried in his voice as well. “Maybe if we'd hung around in Spain a little longer, we could've gotten into somebody's entourage. Hah, that would've been nice...”

Jack chuckled, his head tilting to the side as memories took him, before he came back just as quickly. “Come on, Legosi! We gotta check out the front down here! Maybe we'll catch the Statue of Liberty if we're real lucky.” Jack laughed again and rose from the bench, waiting for Legosi to join him with an excited bounce in his legs.

Legosi envied that, sometimes. He didn't regret choosing the life of a traveling artist (a starving artist, it was all the same), but it would have been nice if he found the will to look forward the way that Jack did, instead of looking down at his feet until he looked up and found that he was somewhere else.

The gray wolf rose stiffly to his feet and followed his chattering friend down toward the bow, shooting one final glance toward the deck above in time to catch the familiar pair of antlers departing as well – this time, accompanied by another, even larger pair.

#

Today had been relentless.

Ogma's instructions had done nothing to prepare Louis for all of his meetings for the day – the sheer volume of which astounded the young buck. They were awake and in motion when dawn had scarcely broken, perfectly ready to engage with businessmen and potential clients. Louis knew as well as his father did that this was what Louis had been preparing for, that this was the world that Ogma had moved within and reigned supreme for decades.

Louis leaned against the vanity in his suite, staring the short distance into his reflection in the large mirror before him. By all accounts, he should have been the image of a secure and capable successor. He could stand at attention just as easily as ever, and his face and antlers showed nothing less than the calm, thoughtful, and certain dignity that he'd come to embody over the years.

But something was different. Louis knew it, and Ogma seemed to as well – that must have been why he'd been so insistent that his son spend the night preparing for another hard day's work. Not all of their associates would notice, but it would come through if Louis wasn't utterly composed and confident when they met.

It was in the eyes, Louis could swear. He didn't know why, didn't know what was different or where to look, but he knew that something was there that hadn't been. Or something was missing. He didn't know which would be worse.

He stared into the mirror, and his hand _ached_ where it gripped the edge of the vanity. Louis forced it not to tremble, even with the pain of hundreds of firm, authoritative handshakes throughout the day.

(It felt like a hundred, at least.)

This shouldn't have been hard. Louis knew this, and it was shameful that he couldn't recognize it when he was alone in his own room. This was his father's world. Louis had been training for years to meet Ogma here and accompany him as an equal. Today had been just another day for Ogma, another set of meetings and dialogues and deals to be struck. He'd managed thousands of them before now, and would do the same until he died (he wouldn't retire as long as he had the choice).

There was nothing wrong, Louis told himself. Stop acting as a child. He didn't think he would be permitted to play as an heir without eventually assuming the rights, did he? Heirs didn't have the privilege to play, not when the well-being of millions would rest on their shoulders one day. He couldn't turn away from that, couldn't slide on a costume and slip away into another role and pretend that he wasn't leaving things of such importance behind.

No. He was an adult now. Adults...had to choose what to keep, and what to discard.

But then, Louis didn't even have that, did he?

“ _I've been respectful of your interests, but it's time you outgrew such a childish fascination,”_ Ogma had told him earlier that day, between meetings. _“You won't have the time for plays when you become part of my empire. Best that you excise it from your life sooner over later.”_

That hadn't been the first time that Louis' father had alluded to his son's lifelong interest in the theater as a temporary fixation. Just the most upfront instance, after years of established disapproval. Still, Ogma had tolerated Louis and his passion for acting, had allowed him to join his school's theater club. They had even attended performances once a year or so, when Louis could convince his father.

Louis couldn't explain why it hurt so much to think about leaving those memories behind. For the life of him, it shouldn't have. He'd always known that it wouldn't last.

But now, even with his collar open and bolo tie loosened around his neck, the red deer felt his throat constrict and his breath turn thin. Louis had never understood what it meant to have one's breath taken away, even when of reading it in so many stories of romance and spectacle. They'd made it seem like a precursor to a beautiful memory.

This was nothing beautiful. He felt it as a stagnant mass in his stomach, his shoulders trembling as though his throbbing hand was infecting the rest of him, and a reflection that swam and distorted along with his vision. It was all wrong, his face in the mirror. He would never wear a look like that.

The whole of Louis' future unfolded before him in the glass of the vanity mirror. He would never let himself show an expression so shameful. But then, he would never waver from the path that his father set for him, either. And yet, all he could imagine right now was tomorrow, and the endless meetings and faces upon this ship that would lead to the Sublime Beastar himself. And then beyond, Louis' feet betraying him – but he should have wanted this – during the unending, unyielding walk by his father's side, with a hand grasping his shoulder to keep him close.

Close, so close, _too close..._

The mass in Louis' stomach lurched, and he struggled not to be ill. He stumbled from his suite, out into the hallway where, thankfully, there was nobody to witness his display. Louis forced himself to stand straight, forced away his sickness. He wandered through the corridor, passing a stray steward as the perfectly composed heir that he was bred to become.

Without realizing it, he made his way to the promenade at the back of the ship. It wasn't until Louis met _Titanic_ 's crashing wake and the gentle spray of the ocean that he returned to himself.

The stars sparkled above, unmarred by the pollutants of the land.

There was nobody else around. Louis couldn't decide if that terrified or gratified him, not as his dress shoes clicked against the fantail and carried him toward the railing at the end of the stern.

Far below, the wake of _Titanic_ carved a pure white foam into the black ink of the Atlantic.

He was climbing, suddenly, one foot past the other until he straddled the railing and stepped over it, gripping the nearby flagpole for safety. If anyone was watching, was moving to stop him, Louis didn't notice. He wouldn't have let them stop him.

All that was left in the universe now was his hands upon the railing and the ocean so far below. The darkness met him there, infinite and cold and silent, and it welcomed him.

His hands slipped slowly from the railing. It would be so easy to let go, the easiest thing in the world to fall. A kinder end, perhaps, than anything else he could expect.

It tickled him, just a bit, to know in his last moments that he'd been such a poor investment after all.

“ _Don't do it.”_

His head flinched upward as though loosed from a trance, and the tips of his fingers stiffened around the railing to keep from slipping. Had someone spoken to him? Or was it a product of his fading shreds of resistance, a last effort to preserve his life?

Louis felt his universe turn transparent – still confined to himself and the railing that held him up, but aware of everything that existed outside it. He didn't turn around, and he couldn't say if he was just afraid to fall or if he preferred to imagine that there was nothing behind for him.

“Hey...please, don't jump,” Louis heard the voice again, outside of his head. Someone was behind him. Someone was trying to stop him.

To save him, they probably thought.

“What are you doing out here?” Louis asked, trying to keep his voice level. It was difficult, when he was calling over the turbulent waters far below. “Shouldn't you be enjoying yourself?”

He almost thought that the voice was gone, with how long it took to reply. “Sorry. I...I was just enjoying the view. I don't think they'd let me into the lounges or all the first-class areas.”

Louis almost huffed. He was being cajoled by a commoner; Ogma would be disgusted. They were male, Louis was sure, with a voice that was deep, quiet, and slow with uncertainty. He was out of his element, and he knew it. (Who wouldn't be, in a time like this?)

“You don't need to concern yourself with this,” Louis said. “Leave now and return to your room, before anybody sees us speaking. They'll hold you responsible if they catch you after I'm gone.”

Ogma would, at least. Louis could spare one last mercy for this man who watched him in his final moments.

“...I can't,” the man replied. “I can't leave you alone right now. You need help.” He was pleading now, too desperate to be unsure of things. It was a kindness that Louis didn't desire or deserve.

“Do you expect some kind of reward for helping?” Louis asked, letting a spot of venom enter his voice. “You'll still leave this boat the same way that you boarded it, a common man who was lucky enough for a fleeting break. You won't change anything.” Won't fix anything, Louis didn't say. Won't fix me.

Something about that hurt. He almost wished that there was anyone who _could_ change his life.

“I don't care about that,” said the man. Louis heard him take a step forward on the deck and his fingers twitched against the railing. “I'd just...hate myself if you died because I left you alone.”

“That's not my problem,” Louis shot back. “And my existence isn't yours. Come any closer, and I'll let go.”

Louis waited for a reply, and every second that he didn't get it was a bittersweet moment. Damn it, why wasn't he leaving _?_ He was making this so much harder than it needed to be.

“...My mom...” The man finally spoke. His voice had turned even softer than before. “She killed herself, when I was a kid. It...hurt so much.”

Louis squeezed his eyes shut and forced out a sigh. Then this was personal, no wonder this conversation hadn't ended yet.

“Saving me won't be the same as saving her,” Louis said. “It's not remotely comparable. You don't know me, and I have no reason to love you.”

“I don't care.” It made Louis' stomach twist, how such a soft and passive voice could have such an unyielding undercurrent. “That's not why I'm doing this. I just...can't stand the thought of letting someone die.”

Another biting response melted on Louis' tongue. He wanted to call his would-be savior naive, to tell him that he was no better than a child if he was spending so much time on someone who had no obligation to repay him. Someone who could make the rest of his trip an utter hell if he wanted to.

(He didn't.)

“Can you tell me what's wrong?” The voice asked, and Louis almost missed it. It sounded so much kinder than it would have from Ogma or anyone else that Louis knew. A genuine plea, not a command issued in firmness or impatience.

And with that in mind, Louis found himself too tired to fight back. They could have spoken in circles all night, until the ship woke up and the choice vanished from Louis' hands.

He made a different choice.

“...There's nothing left for me,” Louis admitted quietly. “Nothing to anticipate or keep for myself. It's all been taken from me. And I can never have it back.”

It had always made Louis proud that he'd never cried in his life, not even in his childhood cell. But he almost wished he could cry now, to shed some indicator that there was life inside of him.

“I..I'm sorry,” the voice said. He sounded confused – which was fine with Louis, there was no need for this man to understand his life – but it didn't lessen the sincerity in his words. “Maybe if you keep living, you'll find something else? Even if you can't get back what you had...”

He left the suggestion to hang. Louis scowled.

“I doubt I'll have the chance,” said the deer. “People in my place don't have the luxury of choosing for themselves.”

The voice made a sound of acknowledgment and fell silent again. Louis still didn't hear footsteps moving away, so perhaps he was still thinking.

“Well, I don't know how it is for you, but I've spent the past few years not knowing what'll happen tomorrow. My friend and I have...we've been traveling across Europe. Sometimes we get lucky, and we get a place to stay and something to eat, but...it's not easy, I guess. There's so much, and so many people. A lot to go wrong.”

“I can imagine,” Louis huffed. “What does this have to do with me?”

“Because...” There was a sound like a frustrated sigh followed by hums of hesitant thought. “Because I've wanted to give up a lot, too. Maybe even end it all before it got harder. But I, uh...I always found something that made me glad that I didn't. Something went right, and finally made all the worst parts worth going through. I don't know what kind of life you're going to get, but...as long as you're still alive, there's got to be something that makes you happy that you didn't give up. Somewhere, anyway...”

Something that made him happy. Louis tried, genuinely tried, to find a piece of his life that he expected to keep, that fit that hopeful description. It was idealistic, simple. Some lives didn't get better – only led deeper into adversity and sorrow. But damn it, if Louis didn't wish that his audience could be correct, just this once.

There was a lump in his throat, one that hadn't appeared there in a very long time. Louis hated the way it felt.

“...I'm not certain that you're right about me,” he admitted quietly. “I can't imagine ever finding anything that could make my life worth the struggle.”

And if that were true, what reason did Louis have to stay standing on this railing? The sea waited far below, as dark and endless as ever.

“Well...I don't know you very well,” the voice said. “But...if you really wanted to end everything, then...”

“... _What?_ ” Louis snapped back, when his audience failed to continue.

The voice stammered. “O-oh, sorry! I just...I didn't expect that you'd keep talking to me for so long, if you wanted to end your life so much before.”

And Louis...Louis couldn't think of what to say about that. He didn't care about being polite right now, not enough to talk on when he'd been so determined to put himself out of his misery. He could have jumped whenever he wanted, and his unfortunate savior would have been helpless.

Why not?

Suddenly, Louis felt the ever-present cold of night through his formal wear. He could no longer ignore it. And with the cold, he felt himself shiver and remembered with a sudden clarity just where he was.

He would forever deny how his stomach filled with lead at the thought of falling the sheer height of _Titanic_ into the waters below.

“Hey, I'm going to come closer, okay? Don't be scared,” the man behind Louis said. Somewhere in the past few seconds, his voice had become a gentle relief instead of an intrusion.

Finally, Louis heard the telltale sounds of footsteps on the promenade, approaching softly toward his shaking back. He said nothing to turn them away, and honestly, he no longer wanted to. His yearning to take his own life...it hadn't disappeared entirely, but it had drifted out of focus, replaced by other thoughts.

(Such as how disgusted his father would be if he saw his son now.)

Louis' companion was so close now that the deer could feel his breath against the back of his head, between his antlers. That meant he had to be quite tall, as Louis was far from short for his age. It occurred to Louis with a shock that he hadn't considered at all the species of his unfortunate audience. But if he was tall, so tall that Louis' herbivore instincts made his fur stand on end...

A hand – a _large_ hand – settled upon Louis' shoulder. And _Titanic_ pitched backward against the ocean waves. Louis felt the railing disappear from beneath his hand, the stern from beneath his feet, and the hand from its rest on him.

And the universe disappeared again, stranding Louis in desolate darkness.

(If falling was the easiest thing in the world, then Louis now wished for an adversity more than he ever had before.)

His shoulder wrenched in its socket as a tight grip engulfed his wrist. Louis swung back against the stern, wincing as his side hit the ship at a painful angle. The railing stretched far above his head now, but Louis was stuck too deep in shock to grab it.

“Are you okay?! Grab the railing, and I'll pull you up!”

The voice snapped Louis back to reality, but instead of following instructions, he threw his head back to see, at last, the man who had been passing by when Louis least wanted him.

A gray wolf, Louis noticed first. A predator. His instincts had been accurate.

A shabby coat, thick gray fur that needed grooming, and the pointed claws pressing into his forearm were what Louis noticed next. A commoner. Right again.

But those eyes...the pupils were much smaller than usual for the species. Soft gray pinpricks set in wide white pools. It must have been intense, looking into those eyes and feeling as though they were always wholly focused on you.

(Although it was the wrong time to think it, Louis felt seen – truly, for who he really was – under that gaze.)

And...he was _young._ Louis had expected a grown man from the timbre of his voice, but this wolf was barely an adult, if an adult at all. Maybe Louis' own age, or close to it.

Louis slipped down the wolf's grip, just barely, but it was enough to remind Louis of where he was. He clung to the railing with his free hand in a desperate grip, and the wolf used that drop in weight to haul the deer back up. As Louis' chest passed above the railing, the wolf slid his hand underneath Louis' shoulder and held him up enough for Louis to kick outward and catch the metal railing underfoot.

He hurled himself forward, and the wolf wasn't prepared for it. They pitched backward, and the wolf landed hard on his tail as Louis came down on the side of his snout. The hardened wood of the promenade sent a blossom of agony to sprout wildly through Louis' head, and a sharp pain in his antler told him that it had dug into the deck.

It was a welcome sensation, all that pain. If Louis felt it now, then he truly was still alive. The memory of standing upon the railing, of staring into the endless darkness, faded into his mind where it couldn't harm him.

Neither one of them could say how long they laid on the deck. Eventually, the promenade trembled under new footfalls, first briskly, then pausing before another rush as somebody ran out onto the stern.

“Sir? _Sir!_ What happened here? Are you all right?”

Louis sighed quietly against the deck. Right now, after everything, he was terrified...but his father would be waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not expecting to come back to this anytime soon, but hey - inspiration calls. I don't know how many people on here are still a part of the Beastars fandom now that it's over; I hope that at least some people are still around.

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is a thing. 
> 
> I know some of you may be hoping for another chapter of Caesarean, but I've been yearning to write this story for months now and I've finally found the inspiration (watching the actual movie certainly helped). I'm giving nothing up, don't worry - my priorities are just elsewhere for now. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter. With time, there's plenty more to come.


End file.
